


Good Luck

by Booklover2526



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Magic, Canon Era, Developing Relationships, Elemental Magic, Ever developing so check beginnings of each chapter for any heads up that a tag has been added, Explicit Language, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Magic, Mild Angst, Not Beta Read, Period-Typical Racism, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, References to Prostitution, Well they exist but won't physically feature, Witches and Warlocks, gods and goddess, non-explicit though, references to rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:21:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25822825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Booklover2526/pseuds/Booklover2526
Summary: Bart Bogue kills her husband dead in the street, not with a flash of magic but with a plain old bullet. Emma can't do a thing to stop it or to save her husband. So, she casts a spell to find the people who can get her both the righteousness her Matthew deserves and the revenge she seeks.Josh has always played with luck, watching its whims with a careful eye and doing his best to manipulate it when the opportunity struck. Somehow, a card game ends in him joining a suicide mission to save some small town that a warlock is terrorizing.At least he gets to meet some strange individuals from the whole situation.
Relationships: Emma Cullen/Matthew Cullen, Goodnight Robicheaux/Billy Rocks, Joshua Faraday & Billy Rocks, Joshua Faraday & Everyone, Joshua Faraday & Goodnight Robicheaux, Joshua Faraday & Red Harvest, Joshua Faraday/Vasquez
Comments: 8
Kudos: 54





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction in a long time and my first that I am posting here despite having been on AO3 for years. Hopefully its good and interesting (I am having fun writing it), but it is also helping to get me back into the swing of writing longer works.

Emma Cullen had never felt the need to learn the darker magic arts of being a witch. To be fair, she only had a thread of magic potential in her blood in comparison to her mother who had died when Emma was too young to have learned much of the arts anyway. Oh, her mother’s coven had showed her a few tricks and had handed out a few tips, but they never taught her any of the seedier spells. And really, she had never wanted to learn considering the cost a person had to pay for those spells could leave you wailing in regret for the rest of your life if you survived. 

Her daddy had always said that she had a bit too much fire in her soul. That her passions would seize her and either save her or ruin everything. He had warned her of this one last time before she had rolled out on the trail to the boundlessness of the West with her new husband at her side. She easily could have fallen into the darker arts if the knowledge were available and regret it just as easily.

So, she had just learned the basics. How to speed up the recovery process from a minor illness, how to clear a space of spirits, a spell to find whatever she needed whether that be an object or person as long as she had in mind what she was looking for, how to coax the land to be a little more fertile… Truly the basics of what a witch could do if they had the magic potential, the ability and spell, and were willing to sacrifice whatever the spell cost. However, it had been enough for her. It had been enough for her Matthew, sweet lovely Matthew who could not do any magic. 

Then Bogue had appeared, and he had shot her husband dead in the street. Later, some of the other townspeople would whisper she was lucky Bogue had at least given Matthew a quick death and not something born from his cursed magic. They were right, Bogue could have given her husband a much more painful death than that of a bullet to the heart with his demon-born magic. However, that small grace that likely only existed because Bogue couldn’t care enough to use his magic after setting the church on fire did nothing to quell the fury rattling her bones that fueled her sudden desire to go back in time and demand to learn all the hexes and curses her mother’s coven had kept in books beyond her reach. 

She and Teddy had slogged through the night to dig graves and bury the dead, as the flea-bitten coward of a sheriff had echoed Bogue’s declaration and had refused to let anyone attend to the bodies. She had threatened to gut him like a fish and use his internals in a spell if he had even thought to try to stop her. In reality, while she knew in theory that internals could be used for particularly dark spells, she really didn’t know anything about how to accurately apply them. But the sheriff hadn’t questioned her, and he had let Teddy join her without a fuss. 

Afterwards, when the sun was just beginning to crest to mountain tops again after having fallen in the middle of their digging and Matthew was laid to rest, she and Teddy had slogged their way to Matthew and Emma’s home. The bread she had just made fresh the day before to go with a dinner that never happened was sit sitting wrapped on the countertop. Matthew’s hat and coat were hanging off the peg by the door, both sprinkled with dust and looking sad without someone to bare them. The book Matthew had barrowed from the schoolteacher and had been reading to her chapter by chapter every night before bed was sitting on the bedside table when she went into their single bedroom to change out of her dirt clogged clothes. When she picked it up (underneath her nails were black with dirt, Matthew was buried underneath the dirt, oh God), she could see where he had dog-eared the corner of the pages despite her reprimands not to do so since the book belonged to the schoolteacher. He had always just laughed and said Elijah knew of his habits and had given it to them anyways. To stop worrying about such a silly thing. 

She was almost too exhausted to cry, but a few tears still slipped free from her dry and itchy eyes. She put the book down, washed her hands and face in the wash basin on the dresser, and tried to use the washcloth that sat beside it to get the rest of the dirt off. She then shucked off her dress and her under layers and had slipped into a night gown. Teddy had stayed with her and Matthew before he had finished building his home when he had first moved to Rose Creek, he had already seen her in her nightgown before. Besides, how was she supposed to care about niceties when Matthew was dead?

She took the basin and washcloth out, dumped the dirty water, and poured in some fresh water from the large pitcher she had prepared yesterday. As Teddy washed up and he slipped out of his topmost layer of dirty clothes, she cut the bread, grabbed the butter, and she waited for him to join her to eat. They sat in silence, both staring at the empty spot where Matthew always sat and livened the room with his gentle voice and broad smiles. Oh, her sweet Matthew…

“I’m going to avenge him. I will have justice for him.” She finally spoke, the rage swelling again in her breast, almost cresting the grief. Teddy simply nodded.

“How?”

“I will cast a spell to find those I need to achieve what I desire. I’m going to find people who can end Bogue and all he has,” She declared. While something like this was typically a fairly easy spell, she knew she could end up paying more than normal to fulfill such a request, to somehow find the people she needed to get her revenge. She would pay it. Every dime, every drop of blood, none of it mattered. Matthew was gone and the only other truly important thing she could lose left in her life was Teddy. He would be lost to her too if Bogue was allowed to roam free and to carry on. 

Teddy nodded again. He took a bite of bread and chewed it slowly and a methodical rotation of his jaw. Briefly, Emma wondered if he could even taste it. She couldn’t taste anything but dry dirt and her own misery, sour and heavy in her mouth. “Tomorrow then? We can leave in the morning after gathering together all our assets and provisions. We will have to pay to hire people to fight Bogue, though some of the others may be willing to chip in.”

She did not deserve Teddy and his unquestioning support even if he was also bound in grief over losing Matthew. If she were a good friend, she’d tell him not to give up his savings for this. That they were likely starting a suicide mission. However, the rage had quieted a little at his words, and she would need his support. So, she said nothing and nodded. They ate a couple more bites.

“Tomorrow.”

The next morning, the smell of burning sage was thick in the air, the scent that would clue her in that she was getting close to what she was looking for, and the magic of the world whispered and demanded its price. She carved her sorrow into her flesh for all to see.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I have a few chapters already typed out that just need editing. This means that I should be able to update weekly for a while, though hopefully I can keep that schedule until the end of this as I write more chapters as I update.  
> Much of the dialogue in the future chapters belongs to the movie, so little to no credit for that goes to me. I do not own the Magnificent Seven or any of the characters in general.

At one of the back corners of a dimly light saloon, where beaten piano music drunkenly swirled the dusty air, Joshua Faraday rolled his shoulders into the massaging grip of the lovely working girl Elina behind him. He glanced at his cards, and he looked up at his fellow players with a groan. 

“These cards are shit,” He added. 

“Deal.” 

“Now, let’s try to keep it civil this round, okay? I’m looking at you, Lucas,” Josh stated with a smirk. The man in question, rough around the edges with one eye a milky white with a scar cutting through the lid, growled.

“Just play the damn game, Faraday.”

The sound of the saloon door creaking open, behooved Faraday’s eyes to flick up, locking onto the darkly dressed figure who walked with measured steps into the saloon and approached the bar. For a brief moment, he heard a whisper in his ear. The skin of his hands prickled, and Josh clocked all the hands suddenly creeping towards various firearms as the black man continue to lowly talk with Dan. Josh quietly pulled the brim of his hat lower over his eyes, peering underneath the rim as the men at his table continued to play the hand in a lie of normalcy. The saloon had gone near silent, everyone watching the man who clearly brought some measure of trouble, so the man in black’s voice carried more than it would have.

Faraday tuned the man’s low drawl out, already knowing what he was there for based off the clear taunting. He had been thinking of cashing out on “Powder Dan’s” warrant himself once he was ready to leave Amador City. However, this man was clearly here for the same reason, and Josh wasn’t about to start a useless fight with someone like him.

One of Powder Dan’s friends went for his gun, followed quickly by the rest, but the man at the front had already whipped around and was firing shots, fast enough and with enough accuracy to throw a gun out of the hand of a few of the men, the hat off one, and shoot out the stool from another. Josh had also whipped out his weapon and was quietly glaring the fool at his table into putting his back in its holster. He was not about to get damaged or killed by the man at the counter because this idiot didn’t recognize he was outmatched. And by a longshot too, if the faint glitter of a blessing from a god or goddess that the man appeared lucky enough to have been granted had anything to say.

Josh blinked a few times rapidly, knocking the sparkles from his vision. While not all blessings were useful in every situation, based off the shine around the man, Josh would say he had gotten quite the useful one. No one else in this saloon besides Dan had any sort of glow, glitter, or other indicator that they had been luckily enough to be born with some sort of gift, magic potential, or had gained a blessing or curse. And Dan’s was just a low red shine, so it wasn’t likely he had a very strong power. Plus, the man was not particularly smart. Certainly not enough to have learned how to turn even his degree of power into a truly deadly tool.

A few seconds later after a little bit of singing, Powder Dan was dead and everyone else was scurrying like rats out of the saloon calling for the sheriff. Josh slapped a hand on the table, preventing any of the men he had been playing with from running off with the money there. “I’m gonna kill you, Faraday,” One muttered.

“You son of a bitch. Deal with you later,” Lucas himself stated with a dark glower, though Josh just gave him a smirk in return. He was done hanging out in Amador City anyways, the card games had been running stale and Dan was dead.

Instead, Josh slowly started gathering his cards together and called out, “Dan, you dead?” Of course, there was no reply though he successfully gathered the man in black’s attention. Catching the man’s eyes, Josh added, “Pity, I had just ordered a drink from him.”

Keeping his gaze, the man slid the drink he had ordered across the counter in Josh’s direction. Inwardly, he smiled. “Money for blood in a peculiar business.”

Josh wasn’t sure if the man thought he was judging him, or taking the chance to share a moment in recognition of their same line of work (to a degree that is, Josh went after bounties occasionally, but he often preferred playing cards and gambling with his luck to make his money when he could). However, the yelling from outside had gotten louder, and instead of replying the man had picked up his hat and turned to go answer to the swarming crowd. Taking that as his own signal, Josh quickly gathered his winnings, snagged a bottle of rotgut, and crept out the back door.

He could hear the man, apparently a Sam Chisolm and a duly sworn warrant officer, begin to introduce himself when his attention was captured by the cold press of a barrel to his back and a rifle pointing at his head from the side. Mentally, he swore loud and long. He had a feeling his luck had taken a poor turn this morning but being caught with his figurative pants down was not quite what he was expecting.

“Guess you weren’t expecting to see me again, were ya?” The man behind him was gloating, voice nasally and annoying.

He squinted his eyes and glanced at the man to his left who had a rife trained on him. “Wild Bill? Is that you? You look like shit.”

He certainly wasn’t Wild Bill, but it would get him a name so that Josh could evaluate just how much trouble he was in.

“Ain’t no Wild Bill. They call me the Two Gun Kid,” The man gloated, though Josh had to roll his eyes at the answer. The “Two Gun Kid” was acting like he was someone Josh should know rather than a nobody who got lucky and got the drop on Josh. They started ushering him forward, but not before the other man named Dicky pulled Josh’s Ethel and Maria out, cooing something about them being pretty.

A familiar rage burned in Josh’s chest. No one but he got to touch his guns. They were his, and anyone who touched them without permission would meet a bloody end.

A recognizable tingle burned through his hands and at the small of his back, calling attention to the cold of the small piece hidden there. Josh didn’t particularly like using it, but it would do. So, as they walked down towards the small mine on the edge of town, Josh cheerily began to make conversation.

“The Two Gun Kid, that’s my name now,” The man behind him was saying again.

“Cause you got two guns,” Josh mocked lightly, prompting the man to verbally question his naming choices.

Dicky joined in, “Told you it was a stupid name.”

“Dicky, shut your goddamn mouth! Faraday, walk!” Mister Two Gun Kid yelped. If Josh had to guess, the two were related in some sort of fashion based off the banter.

Dicky popped up beside him, and while the rifle was still lined up with Josh, the man had clearly relaxed a little as the barrel had tipped down. “Just mad ‘cause mama gave him the name Earl,” he teased. So, brothers then. Josh would maybe feel slightly bad for what he was about to do, but the man had touched his guns, and no one got away with that. 

As they continued to walk across the sand, the two brothers began to debate where they wanted to kill Josh. Josh had already suspected the two had maybe just gotten lucky enough to stumble onto his location, but the fact they hadn’t even planned out where they were going to kill him and dump his body was a pretty clear indication the two hadn’t fully planned to find him much less were they used to killing others in cold blood. He saw the mine ahead, and he came to a full stop and ignored the order to continue into the dark space.

“If you are going to kill me, kill me. If you are going to rob me, rob me. But I will not go into that mine,” Josh said plainly, holding back a visible shudder as he added, “There are rats in there.” He could briefly picture the dark, rough walls, rough wooden posts that tried to stabilize the tunnels, the squeaking and scurrying of rats. Yeah, hell no. If this somehow went wrong, he certainly wasn’t going to let those little savages eat away at his flesh.

“Virginia City, three days past? Best you remember who’d you cheat out of fifty dollars in a card game!” Earl yelled, face red.

Josh snorted. “I assure you, I did not have to cheat to beat the likes of you two.” The thought was practically a joke, with these two clowns he would not have even had to hope he had decent luck that day. However, this was the perfect time to start to play his hand as the two idiots raised their guns higher. He reached for his vest pocket. “Easy. Gentlemen, allow me a moment to show you something quite miraculous.”

“You can show us our money, Faraday!”

He flashed his deck, a sly grin helplessly curling his lips. “Fifty-two cards. Pick a card.” His cards, these very same cards that he had broken in until they were soft under his hands, would never fail him in his time of need. He believed that as much as he believed the fact that anyone who touched his guns without permission would end up meeting a bloody end. They had always served him well in his times of need, even when they failed him in a card game or two, Josh know that at the end of the day they would serve him well. They would not fail to protect him. They were the cards he had used to win Wild Jack, his faithful devil of a horse who cared for him and only him. They had gotten him out of bad debts when his luck ran low for too long. They had put money on the table and bullets in his gun when he really needed it.

The cards seemed to hum at his fingertips.

Earl snarled, “We ain’t playing no game!”

“You’ve got the drop on me. You’ll get a hoot out of this,” Josh cooed, flicking the deck again.

Dicky turned towards his brother, and the hook had been set. “Come on, Earl, just pick one. You know I like magic,” His voice was a soft whine, naïve and just a bit sweet. The voice of someone who really should not be trying to hunt someone like Josh for just fifty dollars.

But the hook had been set, Dicky had touched his guns, and Josh was angry. This whole encounter would meet the end that had been laid out the moment they had put a gun to his head. He got lost in the cards, waiting till one had been selected and put back, crooning instructions and paltry phrases, and starting to cut the deck. “With a shuffle and a cut, miraculously, your card.”

“That ain’t his card,” Earl retorted.

Dicky, meanwhile, was pouting, “Man, you ain’t no magic man.”

Playing the game, Josh puckered his face in confusion as he looked at the card in his hand. “That’s not it? Hold on.”

With a hiss, Earl snarled, “Quit playing around before I bow your goddamn head off,” as he reached out and smacked the deck from Josh’s hands. The cards went fluttering down, but their humming still vibrated in his fingertips. They would hold true.

However, the disrespect to his beloved cards reignited the burning in Josh’s chest. While he took a moment to settle into the rage, to ponder for a moment if it would be worth drawing out Dicky’s death, the two brothers started to bicker over who would get to kill Josh. As he settled on a decision, Josh began again, “You didn’t let me finish. Your card was the king of hearts, right? Is this your card?”

A flick of the fingers and said card sat there sweetly, facing out. Dicky and Earl’s faces lit up, and the barrel of the rifle dropped. Dicky turned to his brother, “Now, you see? That was worth it, wasn’t it?”

Earl bobbed his head in agreement, also turning his face away from Josh. Then, he said the last words he would ever say to his brother, “That was pretty good.” With that, Josh whipped out the gun at his back, and six pounds of pressure later Dicky dropped dead with a bullet to his skull. A few quick steps with one hand reaching out to snag Earl’s shooting hand, and Josh had the barrel of his gun pressed to the sweaty underside of Earl’s chin.

His eyes were blown wide as he met Josh’s, pupils becoming pinpricks as he met Josh’s rage filled stare. “You just killed my brother…” Earl gasped.

“Should I kill you?”

Earl whimpered, lips flapping as he tried to speak. “No, please.”

Josh smirked, “Would you like to see another magic trick?”

The trembling increased, spreading through the man’s whole body as his knees went weak. “No…Yeah!” He corrected, looking unsure and scared.

Josh leaned closer, letting the man smell the whiskey on his breath. “It’s called the incredible…” He moved his gun up to Earl’s eye, “disappearing…” a glance over was all the warning Earl got before Josh pulled the trigger, “Ear!”

Blood and bits of flesh splattered into the dirt bellow as Josh dropped Earl casually, stepping away as the man whimpered and cried. “My ear!” He sobbed as he fell back, sending up a cloud of dust.

He leveled Earl with a dark look, gun still trained on him. “We are never gonna cross paths again.” He didn’t even bother to phrase it as a question.

Earl nodded quickly, shaking as he whimpered, “Please don’t kill me. Keep your money, please.”

Turning away, Josh push Dicky’s body around, putting away one gun just to grab Ethel and Maria. He beat the side of Maria gently against Dicky’s body to knock off the dirt before sliding her into her sheath. He emptied out Dicky’s rifle and dropped it next to the body. Before leaving, Josh paused. “I didn’t want to kill him,” he admitted, both to himself and Earl. “He shouldn’t have touched my guns.” With that, Josh walked away. He was sick and tired of Amador City. It was time to fetch Jack and head out for better whiskey and better tables.

This, of course, proved more difficult than it should have been. He could hear Jack whinnying and calling from minutes away before he stumbled upon the stable where an aged man was sitting with a scowl and spitting at his worker who was uselessly trying to get a rope around Jack’s neck.

“What are you waiting on? Just get him under control. Spend all night at the saloon, and then you can’t even control a silly horse. Come on, lad, get in there!” He hollered.

Josh couldn’t help but snort, trying to ignore his still burning irritation, “Silly horse? That’s a stallion. His name is Jack and he’s killed men before, so he oughta be careful.” Josh called out in warning. Jack had definitely killed a few folks, both before and after he had come into Josh’s custody. He had also taken snippets of flesh and fingers off folks too when they got too close or handsy. He was a valiant protector with a wide personal bubble.

“Easy, easy, easy,” The man in the stall called, but he clearly took Josh’s words to heart and had backed off several steps. Josh rolled his eyes as Jack continued prancing around.

“I require my horse back. That horse,” Josh pointed, causing the man on the fence to turn his scowl towards Josh.

“Two days past. Your horse against my Irish whiskey behind the saloon rolling dice,” He bit out. As Josh got ready to protests (because hell no would he have done such a thing), the man jumped down, and Josh was quickly left to reassess the situation. Because he had certainly done such a thing, which meant Jack was going to demand several treats in retribution for betting him for whiskey.

“I thought that was a dream. I thought you were a leprechaun. That was real?” Josh admitted, because in their world of magic and Josh’s inebriated state, Josh had certainly thought he had fallen asleep and dreamt of playing dice against a sour leprechaun. “I was mistaken. I would like to buy my horse back. Though I am light on funds at the moment. So, it seems we have ourselves a Mexican standoff, only between an Irishman and a Baptist, and I’m not sure how that ends.”

Clearly, the man was not intimidated to backing off and giving Josh his horse back, even at a small price. The man in front of him slowly and clearly moved his hand over to the gun at his side as he spoke, “With you walking away without your horse.”

Between the gesture, the refusal to negotiate, and the whole general day, Josh felt his irritation spike again.

His own hand moved over to pet Ethel’s handle. “Now, why’d you have to go and touch your gun for? We were in the middle of a gentle man’s negotiation,” Josh growled, completely fed up with the situation. Both Jack and the attendant had quieted down, but Josh kept his eyes solely on the man in front of him. While he would rather avoid more bloodshed over stupid matters, Jack was too important to lose.

The sound of several sets of hoofs and clothes rustling against the lather of saddles came clattering up to their standoff. “How much for his horse?”

While both Josh and the maybe-leprechaun kept their hands on their guns, they also both looked over at the new arrivals. Josh felt a stirring that swiftly crept through his whole body. It was the man from earlier, who was looking down at them from on top his pitch-black horse with two others trailing behind him uncertainly. A man and a woman, who when Josh quickly ran his eyes over them, didn’t look like much. The woman’s lower forearm, bandaged tight with what looked like fairly new wrappings, shimmered for a moment. So, a witch who apparently had done some sort of magic that had left a casting mark. Unusual.

Meanwhile, negotiations continued to take place. “Twenty-five for the horse, seven and two bits for the saddle.” Jack was certainly worth much more than twenty-five dollars, as was Josh’s saddle. However, between Jack’s bad attitude towards anyone who was not Josh, and the fact Josh sincerely doubted that the man had yet to check the contents of his saddle, it was a fair price.

“Our paths cross again. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Josh chimed in, squinting against the sun slightly to better see the expression on Chisolm’s face. He looked faintly amused.

“Took a job. Looking for some men to join me.” And oh, that was interesting. Josh had gotten the distinct feeling the man didn’t normally work with others.

“Is there money in it? And who is she?” Josh asked, nodding his head towards the woman who was looking at him with cold grey eyes. The man was inconsequential at the moment.  


Chisolm was definitely amused. “Joan of Arc.” He threw a leather bag down, and Josh could already hear the coins inside clinking against one another. It was a pretty sound as he started to work the bag open.  


“Emma Cullen. And this is my associate, Teddy Q.” Josh looked up, met her eyes for a moment, before looking over to Chisolm and throwing the bag back.  


“Well, I do have an affinity for shiny things. Is it difficult?”  


“Impossible.” A whisper in his ear this time. A budding warm in his chest over his heart. He had rarely felt such a reaction, but it just solidified the decision that had already been forming in his mind.  


“How many you got so far?”  


Josh thought he saw Chisolm’s lips twitch upwards, “Two.”  


Josh scoff, casting a look towards Emma and Teddy. Emma could maybe make a formidable warrior if the need called for it, but she held herself like someone who had only seen death but had never inflicted it. Teddy looked even softer than her. They would certainly be little help unless they underwent some form of training or threw away some of their softness. People rarely were willing to abandon such a thing. “What, them?”  


“You and me.” The honesty finalized it. With a carefree grin, Josh waved Chisolm forward to pay for Jack and his saddle. While Jack gave him a few light nips as he threw the saddle on and secured it, he mostly sat quietly and knickered at the attendant’s dumbfounded stare. A quick peek in the saddle bags confirmed that the maybe-leprechaun had not wiggled his fingers through any of Josh’s things. The whole thing took just a few short minutes, and only another half hour was required for the lot of them to refill their drinking containers at the nearby well and stock up on a few provisions.  


During this, Josh introduced himself, but mostly they conducted their business in silence. They rode out of town and away from prying ears in silence. “Sending a woman to hire guns is not very chivalrous,” Josh began, his curiosity having eaten away at him for the long minutes it took them to get a fair distance outside of town.  


Those cold eyes again, and a steely tone, “I volunteered. Insisted, actually.” Really, between that and the fresh casting mark, Josh could pretty much clue in that whoever they were fighting had wronged Emma grievously. It took just a light knock of his heels to get Jack to canter up to Chisolm’s black mare.  


“Lot of fire in that one,” Josh began, “Begs the question. Whose execution do we seek?”  


Chisolm continued to ride without looking towards Josh. “Bartholomew Bogue.”  


Josh whistled. “Bart Bogue? The warlock turned robber baron?” That…was not particularly good. But, his curiosity had already been captured, and warmth and whispering in his ears that had glowed through his body when Chisolm first offered for him to join meant that he wouldn’t be leaving the expedition anytime soon. “Means there is gold in the equation, but gold don’t do you much when you are buried in it.”  


“You want out, feel free to leave. Just leave my horse, cause I paid for it.” The thought of Chisolm trying to tame Jack, to get Jack to leave Josh, was laughable. But the faint coat of laughter to his words indicated the Chisolm himself knew Josh would not leave.  


So, he grinned. “Just speaking out loud,” He stated as they slowed to a stop on top of a small hill overlooking a prairie of tall grasses caught in a light breeze.  


Chisolm tilted his head to the side. With a drawl, he said, “Twenty miles east of here, in Volcano Springs supply station. You look for a Cajun, name of Robicheaux.”  


Another whistle, “Goodnight Robicheaux?”  


“That’s right.”  


“The Angel of Death…” Goodnight Robicheaux was famous. His name fairly widespread across the west both from his bounty hunting days and his time in the war. Begged the question of how Chisolm knew such a man enough that he felt confident he could recruit him on this mission.  


Chisolm gave him a stern look, though his eyes seemed to shimmer with a low dose of amusement. “Meet me outside Junction City in three days. I ain’t there, then it means I’m dead, and you can keep my horse.” With that, he turned his horse away and called for Emma to follow him towards the forest covered mountains in the distance. “Three days!” He yelled as they rode off.  


Josh rolled his eyes, looked at Teddy and his nervous pale face, and rolled them again. Without a word, he led the kid across the plains towards Volcano Springs.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is probably the last chapter from Emma's POV for a while. I'm decently satisfied with it, though not completely, and I'm sure there are parts that could be better. She is such a complicated character in my opinion, and I love her for it.

Emma tried her best to ignore the persistent stinging and sharp ache in her left arm. While the bandages kept the cuts free of much dust and prevented her from staining her clothes in her own blood, they did not do much to stop the pain. But, as clique as she felt for thinking it, the pain that radiated from her arm wasn’t nearly as dreadful as the way her heart ached every time she turned her head to catch the movement by her side and saw Teddy rather than Matthew there. 

They had ridden off from Rose Creek the day after burying Matthew, following the particular scent of sage born from the spell Emma had cast and shed blood over. Four days later, none of which her or Teddy got much sleep, whether it was from the unfamiliar surroundings and open sky or their grief was unclear even to them, they had arrived in Amador City. There, the scent had suddenly vanished. However, when they had tried to leave town to find it again, Emma had felt as if a cold hand had seized her wounded arm and pulled her to a stop. So, they had stayed in town, waiting for whatever the magic had sensed.

Emma had never been to Amador City; she had always been watching the farm anytime Matthew traveled there. It was a slightly bigger town than Rose Creek, and it had more visitors who drifted in and out, so it could get a few more supplies shipped in than Rose Creek could. She never really wanted to come back after this either. It was filled with the type of rough folk that left you itching for your gun, and the sort of snake charming men that mothers warned their daughters about. However, this was were the magic said she needed to be, so she and Teddy booked a single hotel room and pretended to be married to uphold pesky social customs and avoid many questions.

Besides, it was nice to have another warm body to sleep next to. Emma was not quite sure she was ready to give that up, or at the very least, she would cling tight to the sensation until she no longer could and would have to confront her empty bed at home.

There were differences though. Teddy did not snore like Matthew did, where she could feel it building with each breath in his chest from where she used him as a pillow. Instead, Teddy lay curled on his side facing away from her and the silence made it strangely hard to sleep. As she lay under the thin sheets, back pressed against Teddy’s and eyes painfully dry as her body ached for sleep, she wondered how she ever could have complained about it even if it had kept her up some nights.

Two days passed, and they spent most of their time hiding in their room playing quiet games of cards or watching the town and its inhabitants go about their lives from the window. In the books Matthew used to read to her, curled up in bed with just a candle or two for light, when men went out on these daring adventures every moment seemed packed with action or built with the tension of something about to happen. The writers never talked about the seemingly endless stretches of times between the action, where anticipation existed but had yet to morph into hard breathable tension.

In the late morning, she caught scent of sage again. It was a small matter to scurry across town towards one of the rougher saloons where a crowd was gathering, shouting about someone shooting others in cold blood. They waited on the fringes of the group, and all Emma could smell was the thick scent of sage. Admittedly, sage was a far better smell to have stuck in your nose in comparison to the scent of sweaty and dirty men. 

Finally, the doors swung open for a black man dressed from head to toe in black riding clothes. He had his hands up and a calm expression across his solemn face. The cuts on her arm burned for just a moment, and then the scent of sage died off to just a whisper. She quickly snagged Teddy’s sleeve as the man began to introduce himself to the sheriffs as one Sam Chisolm, duty sworn warrant officer.

“Him. Teddy, we need to get him to help us,” She whispered fiercely. She tried not to scowl at his placating nod, his carefully gentle and understanding expression. As the days had gone on and Emma’s heart had seemed to turn colder by the day, he had begun treating her more and more softly. Like she would break if he showed too much of his own grief or let her do too much. It was infuriating, even if he was doing it to just be nice.

Matthew’s death had broken her, was breaking her, but she could still do what was needed damnit. She had to do whatever it took to take down Bogue.

Mr. Chisolm was stepping off the porch of the saloon, waving off the sheriff after delegating instructions. Emma could not let him leave. She stepped forward to confront him, only to be met with Teddy’s gentle hand. “No, Miss Emma, I’ll do it.”

She did not even get a chance to bite something out in reply before Teddy was moving forward. “Excuse me, are you a bounty hunter, sir?” Teddy called out, shuffling after Mr. Chisolm.

He didn’t even bother looking Teddy’s way. “No, sir.”

Teddy tried again, “I have need of a man with your qualifications.” They hurried after Mr. Chisolm’s quick steps, a familiar feeling of panic starting to seize Emma, shaking her hands where they clutched her skirt.

She had felt the sharp roar of this same sensation when Matthew had thrown himself out of her arms to help the preacher.

“You can’t afford me.” Mr. Chisolm was at his horse, a mare with a black pelt as dark as the night sky. The final piece to the man’s assemble.

They both hastened their steps, and Emma felt her eyes prick with unshed tears. She needed justice, needed revenge for Matthew and against Bogue for stealing her love from her. For stealing their future. And Mr. Chisolm wasn’t listening even as Teddy began to spew Bogue’s crimes. All they got was, “You don’t need a bounty hunter, you need an army.”

Forget it. She raced forward, crowding against the horse’s side. She had to try herself, had to get this vital piece to achieving her desire to sit down and help them. “Mister! Mister! You intend to make me chase? I have a proposition.”

Finally, his dark brown eyes looked down upon her. For a moment, Emma struck by how regal he looked like that, the sun glinting off his dark clothes and the pelt of his horse. He looked powerful, like someone she could trust to actually be able to take on Bogue and win. She almost missed him saying, “I am wary of propositions, Miss.”

“Missus,” She cut in sharply. She refused to lose that one last claim to Matthew she had. “I’m not sure my friend filled you in on the details.”

He turned forward, and she noted with another flare of panic that they were nearing the edge of town. “Enough of ‘em.”

She would get no other chance. He was already dismissing them, and her next words would get him to either shut up and listen or send him on his way. So, with the flair of a broken heart and nothing else to lose, she threw away any semblance of politeness or words-mincing that had been drilled into her head since she was a child. “Then why won’t you listen? We’re simple, hardworking farmers being driven from our homes. Men slaughtered in cold blood. Women and children without food or essentials. All because some man named Bogue wants to mine our valley and take it from us,” She spat.

Those dark eyes fell upon her once again, and the tears prickling her eyes sat upon her eyelashes just waiting to fall in relief. “Bartholomew Bogue?”

“You know of him?” Oh, she could not be more grateful. Someone who understood the monster who had marched into her home and ripped her life away. She could see it in his eyes, for all he tried to play it stoic as she passed him the leather bag filled with all the money she and Teddy had complied together. All the money they and some of the others back at Rose Creek had. 

“Heard of him. What’s this?” 

“Everything we have,” She whispered as he looked at the contents. She knew it was not enough for many men, but it was all they had. All they could offer besides their own blood and resources. She would gladly hand those over once they got back to Rose Creek. She met his eyes with as much determination she could muster. “That’s what it is worth to us.”

He resealed the bag, and he looked at her with an expression she could not quite figure out. She didn’t much care as long as it meant he was considering helping them. “I’ve been offered a lot for my work,” Chisolm began, voice dipping, “but never everything.” 

It felt a bit like a question as much as it was also a statement. There was only one other thing she could offer right now, and it was such a little thing to bare to him. After all, in a few short days she would likely be able to safely remove the bandages from her arm, and this man and everyone else would be able to see her heartache anyways. “That man murdered my husband. Killed him dead in the middle of the street.”

Finally, a tear rolled down her cheek to splatter her shirt collar underneath. Emma felt the acid burn in the back of her throat at the small weakness, but she also felt like she could take a breath for the first time in three days after the tears had run dry. She thought she had lost this as well.

“So you seek revenge,” Chisolm stated, and for the first-time sense Matthew died she saw a rage that matched her own in the eyes of another. Teddy was angry, as where many of the others back in Rose Creek. But the level that stewed and popped underneath her skin seemed unmatched, as if their grief quenched much of their own rage where it only fueled hers. 

“I seek righteousness, as should we all,” Emma began, staring him dead in the eyes and letting him see her for everything she was. “But I’ll settle for revenge.”

They end up going back to the hotel, both to collect her and Teddy’s things and so that Chisolm can see the map they brought along and get a better idea of the situation. When he warns them about starting such a fight, they both insist that Rose Creek never started it to begin with. He just looks at them for a long moment, and nods. After that, Emma can see he is fully invested in them and their town, and probably most importantly, getting revenge on Bogue. 

She wants to save Rose Creek. Emma knows that getting revenge on Bogue is her private priority though.

There is still the smell of sage stuffing her nose. However, its abated to just a thin trickle. The stinging that never leaves her wounds seems to release the tight hold it has on her nerves. Still there, but just a nagging pain in the back of her mind. Emma has never been the greatest at understanding magic and all its ways, but she can understand this. 

There are others they still need to find to complete her objective, but she can leave it in the hands of this man before her. She just needs to trust him, and really, that is just a small price to pay to take down Bogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, thank you to everyone who has given kudos to this work! Even if you haven't, thank you for taking the time to read it! I really appreciate it, and I'll see you next week.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a few things. The tag: "References to Rape" has been added due to this chapter. The instance is non-explicit, doesn't provide really any details, and Vasquez was NOT one of the parties involved. 
> 
> Next, I'm sorry this chapter is late, I was struggling to be very satisfied with it. Still not perfect, but I'm also a perfectionist and I want this out, so oh well. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone for giving Kudos, bookmarking, ect. this work! I'm really happy people are enjoying this.
> 
> Thanks to Google Translate for the few Spanish words here. However, I also know that Google Translate is not the best, so it something is wrong, let me know. While there are no translations in this chapter, for longer sentences in a language other than English or words I don't think the majority can figure out by looking at it, I will add translations either at the end of the chapter or next to the words. I haven't quite decided yet. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!

While the buzzing of the flies and the stench of the poor fellow who had died recently was annoying and perhaps a bit nauseating, Vasquez was simply happy to have a roof over his head for a bit and decently fresh provisions to scavenge from the house’s stores. He had been on the run for a few long months after killing a ranger after he had found out the man had raped the Mexican servant girl at the local tavern. She had barely spoken English, and he had been an American ranger anyways. Her employers would never believe her, much less seek punishment against him. Likely, she would lose her job if she ever told anyone. It also be probable that she would lose her job if she ended up pregnant from his actions. 

She had also looked so much like his one of his little sisters, Espinoza. She had the same large brown eyes, the same stick straight dark hair that could not seem to stay up neatly in a bun. Vasquez had just happened to stop in town, and the sight of someone who matched her lineage and who spoke the same language had sparked her to plead for help. The ranger had been slinking around her workplace again, an ever-present threat that kept trying to get her alone. She had been scared, and the injustice of the whole situation and her dark eyes had led to him cornering the man (a sleazy looking weasel) in a back alley and killing him.

Vasquez, despite how many people perceived him, had quite the temper when provoked.

Unfortunately, Vasquez had not been as alone as he thought, and now he had a price on his head. He’d been dodging bounty hunters and law enforcement for the last few months, killing a few when he couldn’t slip away and hiding their bodies much more effectively than what initially got his face plastered on posters. He didn’t much enjoy being on the run, in fact he craved human contact, but he also could not regret his actions. No woman deserved such a thing, much less for her aggressor to continue haunting her and trying to harm her again.

His mamá had often moaned and cried over his ability to get into trouble. However, she had also smiled that little quirked smile that pulled at the tired wrinkles of her face when she said she was glad that he was usually in trouble for all the right reasons. Her dry and tough hands from years of working the family’s farm would cup his cheeks as her cracked lips had pressed to his forehead. 

Vasquez had left home on a long thought whim, deciding one day when the sun was high and pressing against the skin between his shoulder blades that he wanted to travel. The wind had often called to him, whispered secrets of places he could only imagine. He had never followed after it, staying to help take care of the farm and the town a few miles down the road.

He had been born and trained in his magia protectora by his grandfather until the man fallen asleep laying in bed his wife one night and hadn’t woken up. His bony hands curled over the tops of Vasquez’s shoulders, breath hot in Vasquez’s ear as he whispered how to feel the magia, how to guide the warmth to the cool handles of his pistols and into the bullet inside. Vasquez had sat on the wood flooring of the family home, worn sooth from decades of Vasquez’s walking along the planks, and listen for hours as his grandfather recounted stories of the war and bandits and protecting their farm, town, and country. Vasquez, as one of two of his five siblings who had been born with their grandfather’s power in his veins, had wanted to be just like him. 

With his grandfather’s death and his little sister Maria still learning how to wield the magia in their veins, her preferred conduit their father’s rifle and a hunting knife that had called to her from the display at the general store years back, Vasquez had stuck around for years. He had ignored the itch in his feet to explore, to see what the world had to offer for all its magic. Instead, he had trained his sister using the same techniques and words his grandfather had once whispered in his ear, and she had blossomed into a fierce warrior with a fiercer attitude. 

On that day, he had looked out over the field towards their sprawling home that they just kept adding rooms to as his older brother had married and begun having kids. His older sister was visiting, and her small baby had been cradled in Maria’s arms as she had laughed about how she would teach Lucia’s child how to let magia guide her feet into battle. Lucia had complained good naturedly, saying she wanted a sweet and nice little girl rather than a hellion like Maria. His brother’s children were running wild through the yard, shrieking when their father or their uncles and aunts would lung at them to tackle them to the ground.

Mamá had been sitting in her rocking chair, needles moving quickly in her gnarled hands as she added to the knitted blanket sprawled across her lap, smiling that soft smile as she watched her familia. Their eyes had met across the wide distance, and Vasquez decided in that moment that he wanted to follow the wind. That evening, belly full of tamales that had served as a the family feast after the women and children and spent hours putting them together, he had packed his travel bags.

When the sun had crested the horizon the next day, and his family had stirred awake, he had announced his departure. Lucia had cried, asking how her baby would know her uncle’s face if he left. Maria and his brothers had sworn long and loud, wondering why he was leaving without warning. Espinoza had stared at with dark sad eyes, always the quiet one. His niece and two nephews that his sister-in-law had bore for their family had sobbed while chiming that he had to bring them back gifts. The baby had spittled and gnashed her gums at him. 

Mamá had smiled and gone to her room. She came back with the blanket she had spent the last year knitting, the yarn soft but tough and warm. “I knew it was about time, you were always meant to go and be a protector for those in need. You stayed here, helped take care of us when your grandfather couldn’t, but it is now time for you to go. We have Maria, and I don’t think she is going anywhere any time soon.”

His mamá had always been able to make the family laugh even at their worse. Vasquez, when he was young, had wondered if she had some sort of magia that gave her that ability as well as the one to always know what was wrong. Now, he still would not be surprised if that were the case, though he also knew it had partially to do with the fact she was their mother and had cared and loved for their family with every breath in her lungs. 

So, like always, she had broken the tension. Maria had turned away pouting at the teasing, declaring loudly that she would do a better job of protecting their land and their town than Vasquez could hope to. His other siblings had taken their cues from the children and had started pushing that he bring the gifts and would have to tell them all about his wild adventures. There was demands of letters with careful penmanship so they could actually read them. 

It took about until noon before Vasquez could actually leave, caught in never ending hugs and tears and kisses, demands to have breakfast, and then lunch with him one last time. Finally, he had been able to saddle his horse, the blanket his mamá had created carefully rolled up and tied down. Vasquez had kissed her last, stooping to press it to her wet cheek. 

“You come back safe and whole, mijo. And try to avoid some of the trouble out there.”

This situation was of course the kind of trouble she would have liked him to avoid. However, Vasquez also knew she would have been proud of him helping the girl, Mexican or not. Trouble or not. 

He had stumbled across this cabin two days back, and after discovering that its only occupant was freshly dead, he had fallen into the bed to sleep for several hours. Since, he had been eating his way out of house and home, ignoring the smell (he would not bury the body and potentially get accused of killing the poor soul and trying to hide the evidence), reassessing his other supplies, making some repairs to his gear, and planning his next steps. He did not know how long the bounty hunters would continue to actively try to make passes at his life. However, considering his weighty bounty, he would say he had another few months before he could think about staying in one location for long. 

Maybe he would go home once it was relatively safe, camp out there and help out for a few months until the Americans calmed down.

The sound of horses huffing was the only warning he got that someone was approaching. With quick steps, Vasquez ducked out the back window, leaving the beans he had been cooking to burn on the stove. There would be no hiding that he was in the area, after all his horse was still tied outside. However, he could get the drop on whoever had now decided to try and get his bounty. 

With slow steps, he crept along the porch, lasso in one hand and his gun in the other. His magia whispered to him at the cold press of the hilt to his palm and the hammer against his thumb as he cocked it back. It drew his eyes quickly towards the two new horses tied to the porch, one with a gun belt slung over the pommel of the saddle. Curious, but not enough to drop his guard. The familiar heat of his magic seemed to agree with him as it warmed his body, focused mostly on his hands. Between his magic and his own expertise with his guns, it was unlikely he would lose this battle if it came down to it. Especially not if one had left their firearm sitting with their horse.

A woman suddenly gasped, and there were several loud and staggering steps echoing from the house and rapidly approaching the doorway. It was a simple matter to toss the lasso over her body once she reached the porch, pull it tight across her legs and send her toppling over as he stepped forward to point his gun at the man inside. “The gun. The gun!” He barked as she just stared at him with wide grey eyes. 

“Give it to him,” drawled the man inside, sounding not the slightest bit startled. Even though she was trying to shoot daggers from her eyes, she unclicked to belt and set it off to the side. Vasquez was not stupid, and all it took was a swift kick to send it skittering across the porch and out of her reach. Afterwards, he allowed himself to loosen his posture a bit.

“He was already dead,” Vasquez started, and he flicked his gun in the direction of the body inside. 

He got a raised eyebrow in response. “You’ve been sleeping here?” It was not exactly judgmental. More of a genuine question. 

He offered a grin, “He doesn’t snore much.” He thought he saw a twitch to the man’s lips, but it was so quick that he did not trust if it had actually been there or not. A quick glance at the woman at his feet showed her scowling in disgust. Oh well, not everyone could appreciate his humor.

“You Vasquez?” He focused his gun back on the man in front of him. Vasquez let his grin drop, staring the man dead in the eyes. His magic itched for him to pull to trigger and eliminate the threat. 

He growled, “What’s it to you?”

The man slowly reached into his pocket, speaking calmly even as Vasquez shifted his feet under him. He walked closer slowly, boots clicking on the wooden boards, showing off the warrant in his hands. “Here. I’m gonna tear up a warrant. I just want to make sure I’m talking to the right man.”

Vasquez scoffed, “Poor likeness.” 

It truly was, it did not capture his features well at all, though perhaps that was a blessing. “You a bounty hunter?”

“Duly sworn warrant officer.” Same thing, really. He just got to boast about being in the American government’s employment. 

However, … “Why aren’t you carrying your gun?” A man like that, it was even stranger for him to have left a weapon outside. Especially when he knew that Vasquez had no problems shooting a law man. Even with magia, it could be an arrogantly fatal mistake.

“Man carries a gun; he intends to use it.” The man began, a stupidly noble suggestion. One that could easily get the fool killed, but Vasquez would not complain about not having a gun trained on him. “Dead ranger by your hand. Five-hundred-dollar reward.”

Vasquez couldn’t help the bitter smile that curled his lips. “Maybe he had it coming.” Not that anyone would ever suspect that or even question why a man just passing into town killed an officer of the law. Especially not when that man was Mexican.

The warrant officer shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me either way.”

That was suspicious. Vasquez narrowed his eyes, pushing his magia into the floor at his feet and sending it out to assess for threats. It only carried back the ringing presence of the man in front of him and the woman at his feet. “Why? You intend to get that reward?” 

He shot Vasquez a bland look. “That depends. Got a business proposition for you.”

And there was the catch. Vasquez grinned, tilting his chin down towards the woman at his feet who had been flicking her head back and forth between them. “Does this business involve her?” 

“Yes, it does,” The warrant officer drawled. Vasquez smiled, mentally chuckling at the thought of whatever this business was. Women like the one at his feet with such righteous glares did not often get involved with men like Vasquez. Despite her steely eyes and the bandage on her arm, she had a softness to her features and body that indicated she was not much of a traveler or someone molded into the rougher life of a working girl or even a bounty hunter. Much less did they associate with people like him for his shooting skills. Her sudden bout of wriggling and shouting for him to wipe the smile off his face and release her just made him smile wider with a chuckle.

Finally, Vasquez did as she requested and wiped it off his face as he turned back to Chisolm. “After our business is concluded, what then?” For a second, he let his magic visibly caress the gun in his hand, a spark of white light glinting off the barrel, a warning all on its own that the warrant officer clearly caught if his glance down was telling.

“There’ll still be a lot of men after you hide.”

“And that should give me comfort?” Vasquez asked incredulously.

“Should. I won’t be one of ‘em.”

Vasquez missed human connection, and this conversation, as borderline civil as it was just made it that much clearer. He felt rejuvenated and light, as if the words they had shared had lifted a weight off his shoulders. And truly, he could not do much worse than helping a warrant officer and the woman who had hired him on whatever task put such a wrathful look in her eye. Perhaps, he would even be doing some good for the world with whatever this bit of trouble was. And if not, well no one said he could not shoot them all dead in their sleep and escape.

“You’re loco, my friend.” It was an answer all by itself as he let his magic settle back down, and he sheathed his guns. 

Across from him, the warrant officer nodded and quipped back, “Si.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAG UPDATE: Period-typical Racism.  
> This is something alluded to in the movie, and as such is here too. I will NOT ever have racial slurs in here besides the ones that may feature in the movie (which I don't believe there really in any).
> 
> Back to Faraday's point of view! Also, magic and how people get magic is explained a bit here, so hopefully it makes sense! 
> 
> Thank you everyone again for sending kudos, reading, and bookmarking this story! I really appreciate it.

Josh will admit that he started hitting the whiskey pretty hard soon after splitting ways from Chisolm and Mrs. Emma Cullen. It was just that Mrs. Cullen’s “associate” was so goddamn annoying. And worst, he did not think the kid was even trying. He kept trying to sneak glances at Josh as if Josh was some sort of feral beast. He would open his mouth, flap it like a landed fish, and then close it again without saying a damn word. It was damn annoying.

So, to try to ease the increasing irritation that was congregating in his skull in the form of a headache, Josh began to sip at the whiskey he had brought along. When this brought more staring which then increased his irritation, he drank some more. By the time they hit Volcano Springs, Josh is fairly buzzed already. He was more than relieved to be arriving, especially because his travel bottle is beginning to run a bit dry, and he needs more company or alcohol to deal with the kid before he hits that point.

His luck must be a bit higher than normal today because when they ride into town with the hot dirt kicking up at the heels of their horses, there is a growing crowd at the corral next to the livery. It’s simple work to tie their horses up, pass a few coins and such to the stable hand to bring them water and feed (with a careful warning to said stable hand to not touch Jack pass that point and that Josh himself would be back later to put the horse down for the night), and sashay up and claim a place against the fence to lean on. 

Teddy, of course, followed while nervously glancing at him every few seconds in that particular way of his. However, upon noticing that Josh wasn’t leaving the fence anytime soon based off how he had folded his arms over the railing and was watching the proceedings in clear interest, Teddy awkwardly shuffled over to stand next to him and pose against the fence. He looked awkward and clearly out of place between all the road rough cowboys and exhausted farmhands.

There were three men standing within the corral, and on the opposite side of the fence from the crowd, another sat on the railing with his back leaning against one of the posts and cigarette dissolving into ash between his fingers. Two of them didn’t look particularly remarkable. The thinner man standing between the other two who stood across from each other was likely the referee in whatever shootout that was about to happen. The other was a portly fellow, with sweat beaded on his top lip and underneath the brim of his hat. He also looked particularly smug, a smirk on his face as his fingered the simple little pistol at his side. A good portion of the crowd seem to be betting on him which based off the look of the last man, was a stupid mistake.

The other one standing in the corral was clearly foreign, likely from some Asian country or with parents from such a place. He was also remarkably pretty in a way that not many men could quite manage, with his long, thick, black hair twisted up at the back of his head with a hairpin pushed through the knot. He had a pleasant face from which no emotion besides a vague interest seemed to be showing, and his slimmer body was held in an easy ready position, fingers near the hilt of his gun.

He would have been popular at the kind of places Josh’s ma used to work and that Josh himself had put his own time in, if Josh couldn’t clearly see that any man or woman who tried to get with him wouldn’t end up dead in a heartbeat. There was a telling glow across the man’s body when Josh squinted, with the brightest of the shine being located on the knives that hung off his gun belt and the hair piece in his hair. Which meant there was a good probability that the pretty little silver hairpin was a knife as well or could very well be used as one. 

Now the other man… Josh could guess who that was. He was dressed as close to a southern gentleman that a man could get out here in the West with a neat coat, waist coat, and traveling slacks. There were a few neat stitches throughout the garments, a leftover from months on the road. His face and beard were clean and trimmed nicely, probably having been recently attended to. His riding hat was tipped down as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Goodnight Robicheaux gave off the idea that this “contest” was not so much a contest rather than easy money.

Josh felt a curl of amusement on his tongue. It was smart to play on these people’s biases that Asians were dumb, stupid, and incompetent to make some easy money. 

Most curious though was the dark glitter that traced Goodnight’s hands and floated around above his head like near invisible rain cloud. A curse had been cast upon the older man, and that was more than enough to have Josh feeling a bit uneasy. While curses tended to always have some sort of upside, they also always came with a backlash. You could have the ability to always be able to find food, even in a desert, but be cursed for it to always taste like dust or maggots or some other unpleasant thing. It wasn’t that it didn’t make sense for Robicheaux to have a curse given the man’s history as one of the war’s most prolific snipers. However, Josh was smart enough to always be wary of those who had earned the hatred of a witch, or someone that hired a witch, enough to be bestowed a curse rather than just a hex.

In their world of magic, where it littered people’s lives in a variety of forms, you quickly had to learn the rules. They were the things taught early on to kids as you could just be a toddler when you encountered magic in one form or another. That was not to say everyone had magic as likely the majority of humans lacked any natural magic or potential for magic. However, for those born with a magical ability of some sort or those with potential for magic who then could became witches or warlocks, you could expect to potentially be asked to perform magic for the plain humans in the world or even for those with a need for stronger magic or a specific kind. Some people were just born lucky and with magic in their veins, though those with it in their bloodline were more likely to have it than those whose parents or grandparents lacked any.

Of course, magic came in all different shapes and sizes. While elemental magic and war magic tended to be the most typical after centuries of humans often breeding to promote such gifts, as long as the magic existed somewhere in the universe, a person could be born with such abilities. Even a certain type a magic, for example war magic, could be split into numerous categories that people had or did not have. Some people never ran out of bullets, some were supernaturally strong or quick, though when it came to those with an attunement to a certain type of weapon they also tended to have a kind of weapon that worked best with their magic. 

For example, Josh was fairly certain the Asian man had some sort of war magic that played with his knifes. While it could extend past that range, based off the shine that coated the man, the knives were where he mainly worked his magical abilities.

There were also the folks lucky enough to be gifted with magic. Gods and goddesses, even the big God of the Christian faith that most people nowadays followed for the most part, would occasional pick an individual or a family and bless them with magical powers. Usually, being blessed by some god or goddess was a good thing overall, though Josh had occasionally met a person who cursed out the gods/goddess who blessed them for setting them on some sort of path afterwards. However, most gods/goddesses set their chosen person on paths that appealed to that person anyways with wiggle room for if that individual decided that was not who they wanted to be anymore. That, or the paths a person usually did in exchange for power were never defined in the first place and the person got to do whatever they liked with their new powers without having to worry about upsetting their patron by doing so into revoking said powers. 

Frankly, this was becoming more the common narrative by those blessed by gods and goddesses, as getting people to achieve their goals (which were at times just ridiculous based off the stories leftover from Greece, Rome, and various other ancient civilizations) was becoming less important in the face of Christianity and as people stopped revering the old gods as much. It was a bit sad, how the gods and goddesses were forced to basically bestow their blessings just to stay relevant in the minds of humans and keep receiving prayers from followers.

They said prayers kept the gods and goddesses alive, and without them, they would fade away. So to stay alive, they blessed their powers onto individuals, forcing humanity to keep them in mind and at least occasionally offer prayers.

Demons could also “bless” people with magic as long as the person had magic to some degree to begin with to summon them and keep them contained long enough to make a deal. Witches and warlocks tended to be the only ones who even considered going this route for more magic power due to the highly ritualistic component of summoning a demon and keeping it magically detained long enough to talk it into making a deal. Given the various kinds of monsters and demons that had been born around the world, and how it was near impossible to guarantee you’d get one who was content to make a deal rather than just trying to rip your heart out and try to wreak havoc before it was sent back to wherever it came due to a lack of magic to keep it sustained in the living world, most avoided demon summoning. According to the rumors, Bogue was one of the few people alive who had summoned a demon and came back with results.

It made him a potentially very dangerous man.

Of course, the flip side of being blessed with magical abilities was being cursed with them. Curses were inherently magic, and as a result those who were under their force gained some sort of magical ability that went with the curse. Then there was the curse portion of whatever they had been given magical abilities over, and it was often permanent or very difficult to be rid of. Curses were unusual however given what they often did to whoever cast the curse or had it cast for them.

Curses, much like hexes and other spells, were rooted the ritual castings of witches and warlocks, and they always had a price like all those types of magics. Seeing how damaging curses often were and their longevity, those who signed up to pay the price of the curse often paid with their life or lived with some sort of tragic reminder of what they had done to another person. Josh had once met a man who would not feel anything on his skin ever again after casting a curse on his wife who left him. He had been slowly driven mad by the lack of sensation, apparently taking his own life a few months after casting the curse in an attempt to try to feel something against his skin, even if it was a knife sinking into his arms. 

Hexes were usually the way people got revenge nowadays if they were going to go to a witch or warlock. Still costly, both in money and the price to pay depending on the extent and cruelty of the curse, but if you really wanted to temporarily screw someone over it was an option. Josh himself had had a curse or two placed on him by angry gamblers such as one that had left him fumbling his cards for a week every time he had played and had tried to sleight of hand a few better cards into his deck. It had only been due to his own gift that he had been able to see his luck forcibly shift under the weight of a hex, and as a result he had known to be extra careful for a while. He easily could have lost his life in a shootout if he had decided to try cheating early into the hex and before he had figured out its effects when he fingers had suddenly gone slippery during a game.

Overall though, as Josh watched the two men prepare to draw their guns and the referee called for last bets, a curse didn’t mean you should kick someone out of you life, or in this case, forget recruiting them for a dangerous mission. It simply meant that Josh needed to keep an extra close eye on Goodnight Robicheaux until he learned exactly what his curse was and how it worked. He would not be getting screwed over because someone else’s curse.

The referee started the match, shooting a gun in the air to single the other two to fire as well. Within seconds, two beer bottles shattered about with the fragments littering the sand, and the portly man whose name was Arcade or something, began to gloat. He bobbed his head in the direction of the chattering crowd like a sick rooster, an ugly smirk on his face. The other one, Billy, just calmly slid his gun into his holster as he waited for the referee to call the game. There had been a clear winner in Josh’s eyes.

“Billy wins,” The referee finally cut in, immediately halting all the chat for a moment before the men besides Josh and Teddy began shouting. Billy just began making his way to where Goodnight sat, ignoring the yelling.  
“You’re a liar!”

“Come on, Arcade.”

The man himself spoke, “Hey, come on, we all saw me win now.” He seemed to bolster himself on the echoing cries of the crowd in his support. The calls for another round. He licked his lips, more sweat beading along the top.

“Why don’t we do it for real?”

Instantly, the crowd went quiet besides the shuffling of boots over the dirt. Josh refused to grin, though he was excited to see Billy’s skill a bit more. Arcade would die if he kept pushing this, and Josh had met idiots like him who were willing to bet everything on a little thing like pride many times. He would push for this death match.

“Come on, Arcade, back off,” The referee tried.

“No, no, double down.” Arcade stared after Billy who was at Goodnight’s side now, looking up at the man. “Come on, you scum-sucking runt of a man!”

“I want no part of this,” the referee Eddy claimed, before resignedly adding, “It’s your funeral, Arcade,” as the man in question kept offering to double. The crowd around them continued to shift nervously, a growing mutter of discontent and unease growing as they watched Arcade throw his life away. 

They had all known who had won that first round in reality but had protested in favor of a white man who was apparently known in these parts. They had all helped seal his death warrant as a result.

Meanwhile, Josh had to smile a little at Billy’s theatrics. He had walked back into the starting position, had dropped his gun belt into the sand, and he was standing at the ready. Teddy leaned closer, for a moment his clothed arms pressing warm against Josh’s. 

“If you want some easy money, quickly bet on Billy,” Josh whispered to the kid, though he also was not surprised when the kid gave him a disgruntled look and took a step to the side. He didn’t bet on Billy.  
“Billy?” Eddy asked, only met with a steady nod. “On my gun.”

One shot into the air later, the hairpin that had been keeping Billy’s hair up was suddenly stuck deep in the chest of Arcade, causing the man to stagger a step or two back with a late fire of his gun into the ground. He dropped dead another second later, and Josh snorted as the crowd around his started whispering.

Eddy just shook his head with a low, “Damnit, Arcade.” 

Goodnight seemed to have decided to hop off his perch, throwing his cigarette down into the dirt in the direction of Arcade’s body as Billy went forward to retrieve his knife. His hat was now off and being used to collect dollars and coins, a lazy expression on his face. A cat who knew he was getting the good cream tonight. It turned dark when one of the men down the line boldly proclaimed, “I ain’t in the habit of paying off cheaters. I’ll be keeping my money.”

Josh almost wanted the chuckle at the man’s quick change in attitude when his friend came to his rescue, pointily mentioning Goodnight’s name as he apologized for his stupid friend. He really wanted to laugh when Goodnight simply said, “It’s all right, son. You just pay me double.” He got his money and more without another protest.

“Goodnight Robicheaux?” Josh called as the man himself swept by them collecting money. “Sam Chisolm sent us.” Grey eyes turned to look at Josh, sweeping to the side to glance at Teddy for a moment, before dismissing him to look back at Josh.

“Sam Chisolm?” He shuffled a hand over the money in his hat for a moment, glancing off to the side to look at where Billy seemed to be waiting for him. Those grey eyes turned back to Josh, and he whispered, “Meet us at the saloon down the way, the one with the attached barber. We’ll meet at the barber’s seat in a couple of minutes.” Off he was again, collecting his winnings. 

It was not hard to find the saloon Goodnight was talking about, nor was it hard to reserve a seat next to the barber that Josh kindly let know that Goodnight was on his way to meet. While Teddy say nervously on the bench facing the barber’s chair, eyes darting around the room like a rabbit in a room of hawks, Josh maneuvered his way around the rabble to the bar where he payed for a bottle of cheap whiskey. He was just getting started when Goodnight and Billy came waltzing in side by side, separating for a moment as Billy stopped at the bar and Goodnight made his way over to the barber’s corner. 

Teddy went to open his mouth as soon as Goodnight sat, though Josh quickly waved him off. “Let them settle down, damn kid. We’ll chat in a moment.” He got a small nod from Goodnight whose face was getting washed gently and lathered up. Billy silently appeared from behind them, just as quietly sitting at the seat placed conveniently at Goodnight’s side. There was a plate of food in his hand, though it was set aside to pull out a cigarette tin and to roll one real quick. 

Goodnight started, one side of his face already quickly and cleanly shaved. “Duly sworn warrant office from Wichita, Kansas,” He drawled, “Do we have the same man?”

“Yeah, believe we do.” Josh gestured with his bottle, pulling another quick drink. Billy had finished rolling his cigarette and was taking a few long pulls off it. 

Teddy glanced around, wincing as the noise kicked up a bit more. “Should we talk somewhere more private?” He asked, and Josh barely resisted the urge to snort at the question. The kid didn’t realize that this was the safest place either party could meet, especially when they didn’t know each other. Any sudden fights would draw the attention of the crowd and either prevent it from going deadly or make sure that any deaths got punished.

“Nah, I like it right here. Billy, you like it here?” Goodnight looked at the kid with a lazy, disinterested eye. 

Billy nodded, taking another drag. “Yeah.” He passed the cigarette to Goodnight.

Josh resisted the urge to bash the back of his head against the table as Teddy cast Billy a suspicious look. “How’d y’all meet?” 

If he was not careful, he was going to get them shot.

Billy was calmly shoveling food into his mouth as he watched them with a carefully lazy stare. Josh had no doubt the man was ready to kill them both based off what they had to stay and what kind of threat they posed. Meanwhile, Goodnight seemed to be winding himself up for some overdone story telling.

“How did we meet, Billy?” He asked rhetorically, using it as a lead in. “I was serving a warrant on him for the Northern Pacific Railroad.”

Josh could not help himself, the whiskey from before and the whiskey now loosening his togue despite the threat. “Warrant for what? Killing a man with a hairpin?” He laughed. 

He got a few chuckles from Goodnight as well, who chimed, “Now, now, you’re gonna have to pay for that.” Josh immediately looked over to Billy, who was staring him down quietly with dark eyes. 

Slowly, Billy drawled, “That is funny.” Josh giggled, briefly riding the high of getting away with the joke. He took a quick swig of his whiskey again.

“Here’s what it is,” Goodnight started again, “I found Billy down in an old redneck saloon in Texas, and all these good ol’ boys, they didn’t want to serve Billy’s kind, all right?”

Not surprising, given Billy’s heritage. During Josh’s brief, and dreadful, stay in a set of mines in the Montana area, he had met a few Asian men who had come to the United States to make money for their families back home. He had also seen the way they had been treated by many white people, with disdain and like they were dirty or something for just being who they were. He had never agreed with it, a person was a person and they’re skin color didn’t make them any worse or better than another (he had seen more than he share of white people, men and women, commit truly horrifying acts both with and without magic).

“So, this petite son of a bitch,” Goodnight continued, pitching his voice dramatically, “took on the whole room bare-knuckled. I watched in awe, and I said to myself, ‘Goodnight, this is not a man to arrest, this is a man to befriend.’” Josh had already guessed, but if what Goodnight were saying was true, it was more likely than not that the magic that flowed through Billy’s veins was some sort of war magic which would be very useful in their future endeavors. Not that Josh thought Goodnight would come with them without Billy anyways. There was something more there, in Goodnight’s words, something unsaid.

“You make your living off of his alley fights?” Teddy asked, sounding a bit dubious and like he disliked the notion. Josh really was starting to wish that Chisolm had taken the kid with him.

Billy looked up from his plate. “Equal shares. Between fights, Goody helps me navigate the white man’s prejudices.”

“I keep him employed, and he keeps me on the level,” Goodnight chipped in, face now cleanly shaven besides the beard at the base of his chin and the attached mustache. The barber went to wipe off the remaining aftershave with a wet towel.  
“Well,” Teddy drew out the word nervously, looking between the two men. “Mr. Chisolm told us to come fetch you, but he didn’t say anything about your friend over there.”

“Wherever I go, Billy goes,” Goodnight said, a harder edge in his voice than anytime earlier in the day. Josh thanked whatever sense of self-preservation the kid had that he immediately agreed. Josh nodded along when Goodnight shot a glance his way too.

A bright grin, a bit to fanciful and dishonest for Josh’s taste. “We understand each other.”

Josh rolled his head, popping his neck and shaking the bottle in his hand with an answering smile. “Well, day and a half ride to Junction City. We got two days. Let’s do a half day of drinking.” He would sorely need it to put up with Teddy for that long, and well as with whatever half-baked stories Goodnight might share if Josh’s guess was right and the man was a talker. 

Goodnight laughed, and Josh noted with a slight sense of pride that Billy seemed amused too. “I like you!”

So, they drank, and Josh watched closely as Goodnight began to ramble about everything and nothing. He watched as Billy watched him, both taking notes of each other. Josh had a feeling not much escaped Billy’s eyes out of the pair, even if Goodnight’s sniper gaze was the one most people talked about. 

He also had a feeling though, that whatever Billy saw was safe with him as long as Josh never became too much of a threat to Goodnight. And for that price, Josh could try.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Sorry that this chapter is once again a day late, life kind of distracted me. But it's here now!
> 
> This is actually the last of the chapters originally had written before starting to post this story which is just crazy to me. But, the next chapter should be on time (or maybe just a day late) since it and the next one are practically done. So don't worry too much about regular updates for now!
> 
> Thank you to everyone reading this, and thank you for all the Kudos! I'm so grateful and happy that people are enjoying this work!
> 
> Slight warning for some racial slurs; they are the ones canonly used in the show.

Two days later, just as the sun was starting to near the horizon, they ride past the outskirts of Junction City towards two large trees that stood guard over a large creek. Josh’s vision was a bit fuzzy, unable to discern the individual branches of either tree, an after effect of probably a bit too much whiskey over the course of the day. However, it had also nicely drowned out some of Goodnight’s long-winded stories and Teddy’s questions. 

He hears a short, piercing whistle coming from the direction of the trees, and moments later he can make out Chisolm standing and walking over while Emma scurries towards them from the direction of the creek, water canteen in hand. Whiskey had a nasty habit of sometimes making it a bit harder to sues out the luck of others, so he could not quite guess if luck was in her favor that the water was clean. It was partly why he often did not drink much whenever he arrived into a new area and before he learned the players at the card tables. 

Oh, he would order drinks and play up being drunk till the morning light shone, but it was not hard to pay a working girl to slip some of the drinks away to share with her friends while everyone was distracted or to expertly curl her hand over the glass to hide how much had actually been drunk when giving him a sip for those first few nights. After he had a good idea of the players and who he needed to avoid pissing off too much both in terms of how his own luck fluctuated around them or who had some sort of magic, he could usually either actually start drinking or quickly get out of town.

They came to a stop, Goodnight laughing loudly and proudly while he hopped off his horse to go meet Chisolm whose face had broken into a wide smile that showed off his pearly whites. The Southern had completely abandoned his mount for Billy to take care of as he and Chisolm spouted something about rain and fire. It honestly kind of blurred together, though whether that was because Josh was getting good at ignoring Goodnight’s voice or the whiskey, Josh could not really tell. 

“That’s Billy Rocks. He’s with me,” Goodnight said, gesturing towards where Billy had started to lead their horses to be tacked for the night. 

Josh considered for a moment if he should not give into his impulse to be annoying. Then again, Josh had had to sit through two days’ worth of drawn out, over dramatic stories.

“Sam, that’s Billy. He come with Goodnight.” Josh said, worlds slurring at their edges. He wondered if Chisolm picked up the other meaning in his words. He had had a whole two days of being exposed to Billy and Goodnight’s interactions, and the two were not subtle in the least at hiding the fact that they were more than business partners and friends. Hell, this morning he had caught Goodnight brushing out Billy’s hair and pinning it back for him. It was stupid of them to be so casual and open about their relationship, especially around those they did not know even if they had thought both Teddy and Josh had been asleep. Being romantically or sexually involved with men was something that could get you killed in some circles, sometimes with the law being the ones to enact it. 

Being into the same sex, or both, was not as frowned upon as it could have been without magic. When the world knew that gods existed, and knew the stories of how those gods sometimes laid with both sexes or multiple partners at once, it tended to lessen the stigma. If one could perform the right magic, was and or, knew a good witch and was willing to pay, you could even change your sex to match your gender. Having magic meant that a woman could be far more powerful and deadlier than a man at any given moment, even though common discourse still perpetuated the idea that women should be at home taking care of the house and kids. 

However, especially out West were the creed was that you needed to fight to survive, people were often more openminded cause the West called to the strange, unusual, and misfits. If you could survive, that was what really mattered. A woman lording over a gang, being a mayor, or running a farm or business by herself maybe only got a second glance. A man who liked laying with other men could probably be reasonably safe or at least be just kicked out of town rather than just instantly being hung. However, it paid to be safe and being subtle about one’s preferences until they knew who they were riding with.

Though, it did make Josh wonder. Had they been so open because they thought Josh and Teddy were asleep, or where the two confident enough in their ability to deal with any problems that it wasn’t a concern if Josh or Teddy had a bad reaction despite not knowing any abilities they may have?

“I don’t know about this one,” He heard Goodnight mutter towards Chisolm as Josh carefully dismounted off Jack. He was not nearly as drunk as his previous statement had made him seem, but he still did not want to fall on his ass in front of these men. Jack was nice and carefully held still as possible to prevent any such falls. “Whose this?” Josh sauntered towards Chisolm as Goodnight moved away to greet Emma.

“We work for her,” Chisolm called out before turning to stare down Josh. He raised an eyebrow, and Josh had to hide a grin into his whiskey bottle. Yeah, Chisolm got what he had been laying down.

“Billy is pretty nifty with them pot stickers,” Josh whispered. “Goodnight and him have a thing, but he will be useful.” Chisolm gave a solemn nod, letting Josh turn away to greet the recruit Chisolm had brought forward. 

“Good, we got a Mexican.” The words slipped off Josh’s tongue, an accident as his brain tried to process the man before him. The scowl that immediately crossed his already weary face just had him prettier. 

The man was a Mexican, or he had their blood somewhere in his family tree based off his dark caramel skin. He had a nice oval face, with pretty brown cow eyes, and dark curls peeking under his cowboy hat. He was tall, taller than Josh (which was admittedly a turn on), and fairly lean though he was packed with muscle. He glowed softly, the brightest of the glow concentrated on the pair of pearl inlaid pistols at his hips. Josh had already had the spare thought that the people he was now traveling with where all unfairly handsome or pretty in one way or another, but good lord. 

He couldn’t help but taunt the man further. “Oh, yippee, yippee, andale.” He exaggerated waggling his fingers over Ethel, staring up at that scowling face with a grin. “Oh…ole, muchacho.”

Chisolm dragged the Mexican away, forcing the man to remove his hand off the pistol on his hip. Josh almost wanted to pout at losing his attention, but Jack had wandered over to butt his head against Josh’s back. And yeah, he should attend to his horse (who he knew was laughing at him) before Jack got angry at the neglect. 

That night when they were bunking down and the man appeared to have forgiven him after dinner, he learns that the Mexican’s name is Vasquez and he smiles as roguishly and prettily as he scowls.

***

The next morning they set out bright and early, and Josh tried not to spit and curse at the headache throbbing in his skull or how he can’t really apply much “hair of the dog” because he had hit his bottle too hard the day before. So, he sat nice and quiet with his eyes squinted closed against the sun for most of the day, only catching a bit of the loose and sparse conversation that made its way through the group.

Goodnight, of course, is one of the one’s trying to make conversation. “What a merry band we are. Me a grey, Chisolm a blue, Billy a mysterious man of the Orient, a drunk Irishman, a Texican, a female and her gentleman caller…” He paused for effect, “This is not gonna end well.”

Josh feels a spark of annoyance at being labeled as a drunk, even if he hadn’t shown Goodnight much else. Still, it was a title his loathed. Though, apparently not as much as Vasquez hated being called a Texican.

“I’m Mexican, carbon. No such thing as a ‘Texican’.” He spat, and Josh looked back over his shoulder to watch.

Goodnight snorted, “Try telling that to my granddaddy. He died at the Alamo. New Orleans Greys, long barracks, bayonets. Blood. Teeth! Mauled to death by a horde of teeming brown devils, you know.” Josh could feel Vasquez bristle a bit more, and he caught Emma and Teddy pulling their horses a bit further back from the group. 

“My grandfather was one of those devils, you know? Toluca Battalion,” Vasquez chuckled as he maneuvered his horse up close to Goodnight’s side, a sharp grin on his face. “Maybe my grandfather killed your grandfather, huh?”

Josh chortled, turning back to face the front to make sure he did not let Jack walk straight into someone else. He swore he caught a quick grin on Chisolm’s face from the corner of his eye when Goodnight calls to Billy as if he is just talking to him, “What a charming thought. I sense we are bonding.” 

Josh heard Vasquez laugh at that, clearly most if not all the annoyance gone for now. He even thought he heard a small but deep chuckle from Billy as they rode up to the trading station. Perhaps Goodnight was right.

Common trails were often darted with these small outcroppings, a series of small buildings and cleared camping grounds set near rivers and creeks for travelers to be able to rest in a bit of a safer area. It was also a good place for a quick card game or to trade supplies with others traveling. A few individuals would sometimes set up shop at these travel posts, making their livings off trading things like food, baths, beds, and other supplies with weary travelers. They were not towns, not even close, but sometimes they were the best you could get for days on end.

It is also, according to Chisolm and the faint scent of sage that Emma could smell that apparently helped lead her to men that were supposed to help her take back her town, where they would find Jack Horne or word of where he was at. Josh had heard that years back that the legendary Jack Horne had taken off into the mountains to live a solitary life, but it was still a bit baffling to have it be true.

Chisolm had wandered off when they had first arrived, letting the rest of them tack up their horses and settle down for a bit of lunch and rest while he went off to ask around for Jack Horne. They had just finished and settled on the porch to quietly wait for him when he came tromping back with two men, one carrying a rifle. He did not look impressed, and it took little work to find out why.

The Pigeon Brothers, who looked nothing more than a couple of lousy mountain men or traders, were claiming to have killed Jack Horne and be in possession of his rifle. Goodnight voiced what they were all thinking, voice pitched high with his disbelief. “So, we are talking the same Jack Horne? The Jack Horne? The legend Jack Horne?”

One brother scoffed, “Legend? Legend my ass.”

The long-haired brother carrying the rifle joined in, “Yeah, he may have killed 300 Crow, but he ain’t never met the Pigeon Brothers before.” Josh shared a quick look with Vasquez, who had his fist pressed against his mouth as he leaned against the railing of the small house they had eaten at. He looked just as disbelieving and annoyed as Josh felt, his brows furrowed over his dark eyes and a frown peeking around the edges of his fist. 

“And you are saying that is Jack Horne’s rifle?” Chisolm asked.

“It was Jack Horne’s rifle.” The one holding it showed it off, letting them all see the intertwined “JH” on the butt. For a brief moment, Josh felt a chill brush against his shoulders, quick and fleeting. He squinted, before leaning back carefully from the two men. He had a feeling that they would not be around for long given the faint dark light that was emanating off the gun. 

“And there’s an Army fort wanting to pay-” the maybe slightly smarter brother gave him a nudge, breaking the other’s rambling for just a moment, “one thousand dollars for proof of death. Rifle’ll do.” At his long-haired brother’s warning, he quieted his voice.

Josh felt the chill again. “You have no body?”

The brothers looked between each other again, quick and unsure. Finally, one spoke up. “Well, you see, Len here smashed a boulder over his head. Fell off a cliff.” 

Josh was honestly not very surprised; he could not imagine two idiots looking like this and willingly spouting how they’d off a dangerous Native killer and the award they would get being very upfront about attempting a murder. They did not seem to have the guts to outright confront a bounty.

“Snuck up on him, huh?” Goodnight cooed; voice tingled with just the right amount of darkness to get across he wasn’t pleased. 

The short-haired one did not seem to like it. “Just what the hell are you trying to-” The air whistled, and with a dull thunk! the man dropped to his knees with a hatchet in his chest. From the hill came a great bear of a man, and Josh placed his hand casually on the hilt of his pistol as the newcomer stormed towards the remaining brother. Josh had to guess this man was Jack Horne, as the remaining Pigeon Brother desperately kept stepping back and clumsily firing the rifle into the air before dropping it when he tripped.

“Good lord,” Goodnight muttered as Jack Horne picked up his rifle, clocked the brother in the skull, and then finished the job by stomping down on his skull with a sick crunch.

“Pigeon Brothers weren’t famous very long,” He added afterwards. Josh, Vasquez, and Billy all laughed. Josh smirked at the disgusted looks Teddy and Emma cast between them and the bodies. The men got their just desserts as far as Josh was concerned, and it didn’t bother Josh none to laugh at their stupidity even if they were now dead.

Jack Horne had now stormed back over to the first dead brother, flipping the body around to retrieve his hatchet. The side of his face was caked in dried blood, some of it staining a bit of the shoulder of his leather vest. He looked up at them with burning blue eyes. “These two ungodly creatures,” He croaked in an unusually high voice, “broke a rock over my head. Robbed me of my possessions. I trailed ‘em for two days!” 

“They got what they deserved, Mr. Horne,” Chisolm spoke. “My name is Sam Chisolm, we met about six years ago in Cheyenne.”

Jack ignored him, still staring at the gathered majority with an intense gaze as he cleaned off his hatchet on the Pigeon Brother’s clothes. “Now I got a right, by the Lord and by the law, to take back what belongs to me. Are we in agreement?”  
They all voiced or gestured their agreements. None of them where dumb enough to pick a fight with the man over something so small and justified. Josh took the moment to peek a bit closer at the man who was supposed to be their next recruit, fighting a wince at the way he glittered a dark light. A curse, but if what they said was true…

“You still collecting scalps? The government doesn’t pay a bounty on redskins anymore. You must be out of work.” Josh wondered what did it, what made the great Jack Horne quit. The curse or the lack of money for the blood of Natives. He had no doubt that it was an Indian who cast the curse that held tight to Jack’s body, gripping tight to his skin as if it was another layer of clothing. Maybe it was more than one even.

Horne turned away from him, staring at Chisolm mournfully. “Now, that’s part of another story, ain’t it?” He started moving towards the horse the Pigeon Brothers had been dragging along.

“Yes, it is,” Chisolm said, voice low and careful. Josh took that to mean it had likely been the curse that led to the man ending his career. He wondered how many other white men carried curses laid upon them by Natives and what if anything that many have had to do with the end of bounties on Natives. “We…We’re looking for some men, Mr. Horne, good men like yourself, to do a job. Going after a fella, name of Bartholomew Bogue and his men. Just…” Josh didn’t think he had ever seen Chisolm look so unsure or nervous. “Well, just thought you may be interested.”

Horne didn’t say anything, just looking over all of them one last time before leading what Josh guessed had been his horse back the way he came. Teddy once again showed he maybe had a smidge of survival instincts and quickly moved out of the man’s way.

“I believe that bear was wearing people’s clothes,” Josh quipped, grinning as those around him bust into laughter despite Chisolm’s disapproving look and the expressions on Teddy and Emma’s faces. He stood up, let Vasquez sling a warm arm around his shoulder, and headed back inside the house. He did not think that would be the last time they saw Jack Horne, not when his hands had been pleasantly tingly since Chisolm asked Horne to join them.


End file.
